


An Apostle's Reverence

by turntechCatnip



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntechCatnip/pseuds/turntechCatnip
Summary: To stand with him is dangerous. But to abandon him is unacceptable. He is truth, and love, and justice, and vengeance, and above all he is vulnerable, and needs those stronger than him to keep him on his feet.





	An Apostle's Reverence

**Author's Note:**

> told from the point of view of a follower of the signless

 

 

To stand in his presence is a shock to all your senses. In an instant, your perception of the world around you is altered, and you may never again retreat to your ignorance. The mere fact that a man like this exists, and _lives—_ how could it even be possible? It is terrifying, and transformative, and rapturous, and sublime. To be scolded by him, chastised and admonished, to be _changed_ by him is an experience without compare. You will walk away a different person than you were before you met him.

To stand with him is dangerous. But to abandon him is unacceptable. He is truth, and love, and justice, and vengeance, and above all he is vulnerable, and needs those stronger than him to keep him on his feet. To be his shield is all I desire from my life, regardless of how short it may end up being.

 

\---  
  


He can smell fear, and all that come face to face with him surely reek of it. The treatment is always the same. He waits to speak, breathing in your cowed and humbled presence before he greets you. I have never before been so terrified of a man so weak. Lowblood or high, all are rendered small before him. It is not that he stands higher than you that inspires such fear, but that he stands at all, a defiant contradiction of everything you assumed you knew about the world.

He allows the fear to stew and simmer, but only briefly, only til he deems its aroma sufficiently potent. After that, he asks your name. He speaks with delicate compassion and care, for any that live in our miserable society are victims, and he desires no more suffering than is necessary for change. He has not the refined vocabulary of a ruler, nor the rough tongue of a peasant. His words are something else entirely, the speech of a man who has seen much of a world not our own, a world that could be. When introductions are through, he invites you to speak, and prepares to destroy you, and allow you to heal.

 

\---  
  


Every word you speak he listens to intently, and to hear what he has to say in return is to have the lash taken to you. Though his compassion remains, his delicacy has fled, and in its place vulgarity and fury are his instruments of healing. Each false assumption spoken, each careless bigoted word, each remnant of the self you must abandon to be mended, he strikes down with fire and noise. Always aggressive, but never violent, the storm of anger your ignorance inspires would surely invite culling were he any other man...and yet, this fragile, outcast healer is untouchable. None who are seared by the brand of his rancor dare raise a hand against him; to break such a person would be unforgivable.

Though he admonishes you each time you speak, he never asks that you stop. He invites more blunders, more ignorance, more of the poison of hate that our culture has planted in you, to be poured out for him to burn away. He asks questions knowing that your answer will only make his blood boil hotter. He suffers the pain of his own anger to tear out the evil living in your heart. He dares you to deny his accusations, knowing that any who would try would feel the lies building in their throat before they leave their lips. His interrogation is vicious and painful, but not cruel. Beneath all the fury lies his compassion and love, for the person you could be and always were.

 

\---  
  


For a man with a temper so sharp, you would not think his touch would be so gentle. When he has finished your first cleansing and has exhausted himself enough, his embrace betrays just how frail he is. To be trusted with the care of a body so weak is almost as terrifying as to stand in its presence for the first time. Even now, I fear I may break him if I am careless. Though he may heal others, his own constitution is sickly and feeble. I do not know if a disease has hold in him, or if he is simply cursed with weak vitality, but he must rely on those stronger than him to survive.

Yet, despite his frailty, he shows no fear. He invites the touch and warmth of those who could crush him easily if they were careless. He does not shut out others, and with confidence will wade into a crowd that threatens to overwhelm him, to share his love and his rage. He will rest upon those he trusts, which are many; and he will sleep with those he is close with, which are few. The ease with which he shares his body _should_ be dangerous, but he fears nothing. He is brave, and his bravery inspires vigilance and care in all those he touches.

 

\---  
  


He sees things others do not. He sees things as they truly are, as they are not, and as they should be. He sees through lies, whether told to trick him or yourself. He sees the pain and anguish and trauma that lie beneath every sneering noble and every downtrodden peasant. Before his eyes nobility is stripped away, pretension dissolves, and when all that is not is gone, all that is left to observe is truth. With truth laid bare for any to see, none can deny his message. With his message clear, all will desire to speak it, and he must urge caution. Though he is brave, he is not a fool, and above all else his sight grants him, his sense for danger is unparalleled. To speak his words openly would be to invite complete destruction, and so his truth must travel through whisper.

His sight is more than just what his eyes show him. He has visions, in dreams and seizures, of a past that never was and a future that must not be. He does not often share the specifics of his dreams with any but his closest circle. I do not wish to presume I mean more to him than others, but the fact that he confides in me fills me with joy, and a determination not to betray or fail his trust. The dreams he speaks of may be beautiful, or terrifying, and often are both.

 

\---  
  


He has tasted paradise in his dreams, and wishes above all else to share its fruit. He has lived another life in a past before our past. In his visions he lives as one cared for by society—spoiled, even. He has no love for this other self he is shackled to, but the world he saw, the world that our history would never show, filled him with courage and love. And from courage and love, his anger was born, for what other emotion could one feel when faced with the true magnitude of the injustice of our culture? The inequality and senseless slaughter is painful enough; to see how things could be without it is unbearable.

Not all can see it, but I can tell deep down he does not believe he will live to see his dream become reality. His caution tempers the feverish desperation with which he works, the frantic pace of a man resigned to seeing his legacy live on far beyond him. It breaks his heart that he will not be there to see when all others taste the fruit of paradise. It breaks my heart to see him suffer so.

 

\---  
  


Each night by his side is plagued with fear. At any moment, it could all come crashing down, as some misstep brings our enemies upon our heels. We move always, and flee often. Each morning as we sleep we resign ourselves to the possibility of waking up to oblivion, and each night as we wake we are filled with gratitude to the universe for granting us one more day to do our work. When our time is up, there will be none that feel regret. I will stand before him and gladly be cut down if it affords him even a second more of life. I am sure it would upset him more than I.

He has seen his own death, but will not speak of it. He surely knows how many of us will die with him, and is plagued with guilt, but he also must know that we are ready and willing to lay our lives down for him. I only hope to be by his side until my time is up. A-fucking-men.

 


End file.
